


Tattoo Roulette

by petals42_tumblr (rosepetals42)



Series: Sterek Tumblr Fics [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, James Corden - Freeform, M/M, Tattoo Phobia, They are basically One Direction sorta, band au, stiles and derek get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7812559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetals42/pseuds/petals42_tumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Now, Stiles, unlike the rest of the band, you don’t have any tattoos, do you?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Uh, no,” Stiles says, feeling his heart start to hammer. He had not thought this through. They had checked with him when the five of them agreed to play this ridiculous game and it had seemed like such a sure thing. Like, there was no way he would actually pick the box that meant he had to get a tattoo live on stage. It is only now, now in front a few hundred people, James smiling at him expectantly, that he is starting to realize that a 16% chance is not the same as a 0% chance.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No, I don’t,” he says, knowing his voice is coming across high and nervous.</em>
</p>
<p>Stiles isn't really certain how going on the X-Factor suddenly turned him into the drummer for a world famous band. He is even less certain why on earth he agreed to play Tattoo Roulette on The Late, Late Show with James Corden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoo Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a tumblr fic written for literaryoblivion posted [here](http://stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/135921855636/merry-christmas-literaryoblivion) for last years Sterek Santa Gift Exchange. (Don't worry I promise it's mine!)

*^*^*^

Stiles likes many things about his life. He likes that he gets to play drums for a living, he likes that he gets to touch so many fans’ lives, and, really, he doesn’t usually mind doing talk shows. It’s actually sort of fun. He spent so much of elementary school being told to _shush_ by teachers and coaches and, hell, even other classmates at points, that it’s still a bit of a thrill that people _want_ him to talk.

So, yeah, he likes his life. Despite the fame and the media and the fact that he can’t go  _anywhere_ anymore without being recognized, he wouldn’t change it for a moment.

Except for maybe right now.

Because right now James Corden is explaining the rules of “Tattoo Roulette” to the audience and then he’s turning to Stiles and-

“Now, Stiles, unlike the rest of the band, you don’t have any tattoos, do you?”

“Uh, no,” Stiles says, feeling his heart start to hammer. He had not thought this through. They had _checked_ with him when the five of them agreed to play this ridiculous game and it had seemed like such a sure thing. Like, there was no way he would _actually_ pick the box that meant he had to get a tattoo live on stage. It is only now, now in front a few hundred people, James smiling at him expectantly, that he is starting to realize that a 16% chance is not the same as a 0% chance.

“No, I don’t,” he says, knowing his voice is coming across high and nervous.

“And that’s because…?” James asks. “Like is there a reason why or you just haven’t gotten around to it?”

“Oh, I’m, uh… I’m a little afraid of needles,” he admits. Next to him, Scott lifts his arm and slings it around Stiles’ shoulders.

“He still comes with me when I get mine done, though!” Scott says proudly and Stiles is just grateful that Scott doesn’t mention that Stiles carefully doesn’t watch the actual tattoo process because the one time he’d done that he had passed out. Like… had fainted. Collapsed. On the _ground_.

“So, you’re saying,” James Corden says, just to build tension. “That if you pull the box tonight, your _first_ tattoo would be ‘Late Late.’”

“First and only,” Stiles says. There’s no way he would ever get one on his own. As it is, he’s hoping sheer pride manages to stop him from passing out in front of all these people.

No, wait, he’s hoping that _he doesn’t have to get a tattoo at all._

James laughs at his statement and turns to talk to Scott about his veritable _boatloads_ of tattoos and Stiles keeps his eyes on Scott and a half-smile on his face in an effort to conceal how honestly thrown he is by this.

He should have at least taken the production team up on their offer for them to tell him which of the boxes was definitely safe. They’d pulled him aside and offered and he’d grinned and told them he wouldn’t dare mess with the integrity of the game.

What a fucking mistake.

“And, Derek, you do have a tattoo?” James says. “But just the one, correct?”

“Right,” Derek says, solemnly. Derek does pretty much everything solemnly, at least in public. He is probably the most uncomfortable with the fame that being part of one of the biggest bands in the world brings. When Stiles and Scott (a drummer and singer/guitarist respectively) tried out for the X Factor and were then told that they should team up with an electric violinist (Lydia), another guitarist (Kira), and a bassist (Derek), Stiles was sure that Derek was going to murder him or, failing that, chop off his thumbs so Stiles couldn’t be the drummer anymore.

It was rough for a while. Stiles and Derek _did_ clash on everything and even though the band clicked instantly in terms of music (Scott was always a literal _genius_ when it came to coming up with new concepts and Lydia turned about to be a genius at putting it altogether), the behind the scenes of it all weren’t exactly fit for public viewing. At least, between Stiles and Derek. Derek seemed annoyed by Stiles’ constant motion and Stiles was sure that Derek was looking down on all of them (since he played the electric bass and the upright bass and had actually studied classical piano as well and Scott and Stiles had learned what they knew by watching youtube videos so…), which only made his sarcastic tendencies worse.

At the beginning, the only time they seemed to get along was when they were playing, because the bassist and the drummer actually have to communicate the most during live performances, to keep everyone else on beat. Derek was different when he played, happier and eventually it came out that he _did_ this Stiles was talented and well, somewhere along the way, they’d stopped hating each other.

In fact, there are times when Stiles dares to admit to himself that he might actually _like_ Derek. Like… in a love sort of way. Love, really. Not that he would _ever_ mess up the dynamic they have now by admitting it, because he’s sure that Derek is straight and the drama it would cause would be astronomic and, again, Derek is _straight_ , but… well…

When Derek actually deigns to add another sentence to Corden’s question, Stiles leans forward on the couch so he can watch him.

(Which he has to do because he’s not allowed to sit next to Derek on the couch. There are shippers - “sterek” shippers - and the label doesn’t like that and apparently every time Stiles and Derek so much as _look_ at each other, the shippers go crazy and, well, the end result is that Stiles and Derek are not allowed to sit next to each other. Something about Derek’s mutters dropping for only Stiles to hear and Stiles pressing too closely to his side. Ridiculous, all of it, Stiles would _know_ if Derek was actually in love with him but it means he has to crane his neck in the strangest of ways to catch Derek’s soft look when he speaks.)

“It’s a symbol for my family,” Derek says. “On my back.”

There is a smattering of wolf whistles from the crowd, those fans dedicated enough to know _exactly_ what Derek is talking about even if he’s only been shirtless a few times (never on stage no matter how much their manager says it would be great for the band.) James gives them a indulgent smile and then turns back to Derek.

“So, if you pulled the box, it would just be your family and this show represented on your body?” James sounds a friendly mixture of amazed, terrified, and hopeful.

“I guess,” Derek says, shrugging one shoulder. Stiles isn’t sure how comfortable Derek is with this idea either but he’d agreed to it, same as Stiles.

God, Stiles just hopes Scott, Lydia, or Kira gets the box. Scott is covered in nonsensical tattoos; Lydia’s sleeve is artistically done but cluttered enough that a “Late Late” could blend right into it; and Kira has far less than either of them but she has plans to get one on her ankle anyway and she thinks the idea is hilarious. She practically _wants_ to get the box.

_It’s only a one in six chance_ , Stiles reminds himself as James finishes up with the pre-questions and goes it over one last time. Everyone picks a box. Five of the six say “Safe,” the last says “Tattoo.” If any of them get the box, they get “Late, Late” somewhere on their bodies. If James gets it, he has to get “Wolf Pack.”

“Ladies,” James says. “Is it okay if we let Stiles go first so he has the best chance?”

Both of them nod and Stiles really hopes that the camera isn’t picking up how his hands are shaking a bit as he grabs the closest box on the end (because it wouldn’t be on the end right? Not the first one. No way.) and goes to wait by the pedestals that the show has set up for this exact reason.

Time seems to drag on as James asks all the rest of them as they are nervous and Lydia, Kira, and Scott all take their time picking a box, playing it up a little for the audience and Stiles is so nervous he could _die_ so it’s a relief when Derek just goes and grabs without any preamble whatsoever. (Their manager is totally gonna yell at him for that. He’s supposed to be pretending to enjoy himself at these things. Stiles wants to tell her that Derek’s shy grumpiness _is_ his charm.)

James grabs his box and goes to stand in the middle and-

Great. They are starting on the opposite side. So Stiles will go last. Just perfect.

_It’s okay,_ Stiles tells himself. _It won’t be me. That would be ridiculous. It’s okay. It’s-_

Derek is on the other side so he opens his box first and anyone else may have missed it but there’s a flash of a smile when the word “SAFE” comes up that tells Stiles he didn’t really want to get his second tattoo on television either. Stiles’ own nerves abate enough that he can lean back and shoot Derek a relieved grin and a thumbs up and Derek rolls his eyes in a way that Stiles has decided is mostly fond.

It distracts him for long enough that he misses most of Kira’s build-up and it’s only when the camera zooms in on the second “SAFE” that Stiles starts to feel sick. Again.

Lydia is quick and calm about it at least, a slight smirk on her face when she is also “SAFE” but- but-

James is so nervous he takes forever and the audience clearly loves it and Stiles is at the point where his fear just means he is standing _still_ for once, arms wrapped around himself and it might not be the nicest thing he’s ever done but he is _willing_ James’ box to be the one with “TATTOO” written on the inside just so this whole thing will be over.

(Plus it would be funny. To have James Corden get a tattoo of their band name.)

James’ box is safe and then it’s not so funny.

“Don’t worry, bro,” Scott leans over, smacking Stiles on the shoulder. “I’m sure I got it.”

Right. Of course. Of course Scott has it. Even if he’d laughingly told the producers not to bother rigging the game, it makes the most sense for them to make sure Scott gets it. They don’t _actually_ want to force someone to get a tattoo. Tattoos are forever. And involve needles.

Oh, god, there are needles. Needles like driving into your skin and-

Stiles forces himself to stop thinking about it. He’s not going to get a tattoo. That would be crazy. Scott’s box is going to say “TATTOO.” Of course, it is.

He manages to believe that all through Scott playing the crowd a little bit and he believes it as Scott undoes the little white ribbon and as Scott is lifting the box and he squeezes his hands together and believes as he cranes his neck and-

“SAFE.”

The box says safe.

The crowd _erupts._

People are gasping and cheering and clapping and James is covering his face with his hands and–

Stiles doesn’t really hear any of it. He’s gone a little numb.

This is- this can’t-

James swings around to open his box, proving to the world that somehow he was stupid enough to pull the TATTOO box and Stiles is still just sort of standing there and his hands have gone slightly tingly in the way that signify he might be having an _actual_ panic attack and-

“I’m so sorry,” Scott is saying, looking miserable. “I’m- can we switch boxes?”

He directs the question to James, who laughingly tells him no, who tells him that rules are rules and Stiles had agreed.

He’s gonna do this.

He has to do this.

It’s okay. He forces a weak smile up to his face. Surely they aren’t actually that bad. Scott has a thousand of them and it’s all okay and he’s not going to wimp out, not in front of all these people and then national television, right this is gonna be on national television, he can’t just _not_ to it.

Oh god, he’s going to pass _out_ on national television.

“It’s-” he tries, hating how breathy and scared his voice comes out. He’s not sure the mic can even pick it up. He clears his throat and tries again. “It’s okay.”

He must not do a great job because James is suddenly looking at his face and backtracking a little bit because he is a nice guy after all, suddenly saying “Well, maybe we can-”

It’s not use because the crowd starts chanting: “RULES ARE RULES! RULES ARE RULES!” and James has one hand up to stop them but Stiles gives a little wave and takes one half step towards the man with the _gun_ (like literally there are tattoo _guns_ , who would volunteer for this?) and-

“ _No_ ,” the growl is low and deep, a different register from the high chant of the crowd so everyone hears it and-

Derek is moving forward, towards the tattoo artist and when the chants don’t stop instantly, he does something that he must know will shut them up.

He takes off his shirt. Just rips it off and luckily The Late Late Show decided to tape their mics directly to their chests instead of pinning them to their shirts because that would have definitely broken and the crowd is half-stunned, half-screaming for an entire new reason.

“Here,” Derek says, plopping down in the chair and then twisting sideways and lifting his arm so that his ribcage is exposed. “I pulled the box. Do it.”

The tattoo artist flicks his gaze to James who looks just as flabbergasted as everyone else (Stiles included) and Derek glares at him _harder_ and-

“He’s not getting a tattoo,” Derek says and it’s not even really firm request. It’s a _threat_. “I am. So do it.”

“Derek,” Stiles tries. Derek didn’t want the tattoo either.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scott tries. “ _I_ can get the tattoo. Derek, don’t-”

Scott steps forward and Derek glares him away just as hard.

“Hold up,” James tries because Stiles can see how this would suddenly look like bad television. This game has gone way off track and Stiles feels bad because this is _his_ fault, he shouldn’t have agreed to it if he wasn’t ready to do it. “No one _has_ to get a tattoo. That’s not-”

“Do it,” Derek repeats, ignoring all of them and focusing on the tattoo artist. The guy is a big dude, tattoos up to his neck but no one is really capable of ignoring a full-fledge Derek Hale murder stare.

The buzzing starts and the crowd is still going crazy because _Derek Hale_ is shirtless on the stage, getting a small _rib tattoo_ for Stiles and it all happened so fast that he can’t be entirely sure what’s even going on but–

Their manager is going to kill them for this. The press is going to have a field day. The label is going to be furious because how many meetings had they been in where they’d been told: “ _It’s not right but you guys need to be marketable. Especially with Scott and Kira dating. And, it’s not our personal position on things, but, look, your fans are still mostly young girls and we’re trying to keep you… you know. Just stay away from each other. Keep it friends-only._ ”

No amount of assurance that he and Derek _were_ friends only would calm them and it had led to enough friction that there was talk of leaving the label altogether, but they were locked in for at least another year and… christ, this was probably the opposite of “friend only.”

Derek is shirtless and getting a tattoo _for_ Stiles. So much for not sitting next to each other.

“So,” James says, waving for the crowd to stop. He’s looking excited again. He must already know that this is youtube _gold_. This is- this is _huge_ and Stiles still can’t- “We- well, we had ourselves a ‘volunteer as tribute’ moment over here. Derek, can you tell us what you were thinking?”

Derek looks at Stiles then and for a moment- just a moment- Stiles sees what all those sterek shippers always talk about. Like, he’s always known it was true on his end (or he knows it now) but he never lets himself believe what they say about Derek’s feeling about _him._ Because… it just can’t be true.

But now… Now Derek’s eyes are soft and fond and his eyes flick down Stiles body, no doubt noting the fact that his hands are still twisted around themselves in fear/shock, before sliding up again and he smiles. An upturning of his mouth that has Stiles _blushing_ and this is… this is _insane_.

“I,” Derek starts, not looking away, and for a split second, Stiles thinks he’s going to say something crazy. Something about crushes or closeness or even _love_. But then he stops and just stares and Stiles is staring right back.

And then Derek blinks and looks back out towards the crowd and his voice goes almost flat again (but not quite, not really, Stiles can hear the difference) and says:

“I know that Stiles is terrified of needles,” Derek says, shoulder flexing like it wants to twitch be he remembers he has to stay still at the last minute. “I didn’t want him passing out on your show, James.”

It’s a nice touch, using first names for once, their manager is always telling Derek to do that so he seems less robotic. That and the teasing lilt to his voice and the almost-open smile.

It’s the fakest thing Derek has ever done.

Stiles wonders if he is the only one to realize that. If he’s the only one who can read Derek so thoroughly. Or if every fan-site in the _world_ is going to note how strange this behavior is.

“Well, thank you for that,” James says, all smiles. “I would not want to be sued for injuring a member of the Pack!”

“Oh, c’mon,” Stiles says, looking away from Derek and thinking that the least he can do is get the attention away from their bassist. He can process all of this - the fact that Derek is getting a freaking _Late Late tattoo_ for him later. For now, he’ll do what he does best. “I would not actually have passed out!”

“Dude,” Scott says. “You passed out when I got my first tattoo.”

“That was five years ago,” Stiles grumbles. “We were sixteen. I’m stronger now.”

“You still don’t even go into the room with him,” Kira says because Kira is secretly evil like that and Stiles points that out and the attention shifts from Derek and the tattoo to what other secrets the rest of the band has and-

It’s okay. He’ll figure this out. It will all make sense.

*^*^*^

Unfortunately, backstage is even crazier than the show. Well, not crazier. But busier somehow. Less people pretending everything is fine for the cameras. More _oh my god, what just happened_?

James Corden apologizes about a hundred times for even putting him in that position and doesn’t really seem to be listening when Stiles tries to remind him that it is 1000% _his fault_ and then Scott does the same about not volunteering to do it fast enough (“I just didn’t even think about just demanding it, man. I’m so sorry. God, I gotta apologize to Derek. I’m so sorry.”) and in the commotion, the one person who has slipped away is Derek.

The three boys all shared the same dressing room but without saying anything, Scott joins Kira and Lydia in theirs and Stiles lingers outside, wondering what exactly he should say or what he should do and he knows what he _wants_ to do but he doesn’t know what Derek really wants and holy shit, their label would be furious if anything actually-

He stops that train of thought. The person who is probably furious right now is _Derek_. Derek who might be the only person alive to work out for the health benefits rather than the look, who was always sensitive about being shirtless, who had only _one_ other tattoo and it was for his _family_. His family who had died. In a fire.

Fuck, he has _that_ tattoo and then this. A goddamn stupid “Late Late” tattoo.

Stiles knows Derek must hate him right now. Must be regretting ever going on the X Factor with Lydia. But he figures the least he can do is let him hate Stiles in person.

Derek should probably punch him, Stiles decides as he knocks nervously on his dressing room door. Or make Stiles get a tattoo of his face or something.

There’s an affirmative grunt from inside the room and Stiles slowly opens the door. Derek is standing in front of one of the full length mirror and he has a plaid shirt on, but it’s unbuttoned and he has it flung open and back so he can expect the lettering now etched into his side.

“Derek,” Stiles starts, voice shaking still. Derek jumps slightly as if he wasn’t expecting Stiles and turns to look at him. “I’m- I’m-”

He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s sorry and he’s grateful and god, he’s in _love_ and-

“Are you okay?” Derek says, taking a step closer.

“What- _me_?” Stiles says, confused. “Of course, I’m okay- I- you-”

Stiles is 90% sure he’s panicking all over again but for some reason, Derek just sort of smiles at him.

“Gonna get a full sentence out?” Derek says, finally reaching around to button his shirt.

“Asshole,” Stiles mutters, but somehow that, more than anything calmed him down. Because if Derek is still making fun of him, then Derek still likes him. At least as a friend.

“Wimp,” Derek responds, about halfway down his chest now.

“Wait,” Stiles says. “Wait, can I see it?”

Obediently, Derek stops doing up his shirt. Stiles steps closer and carefully pulls the shirt back and when he still can’t get a good look at it, Derek huffs but undoes another two buttons without being asked.

Stiles doesn’t know why but that’s what does it. He’s seen Derek shirtless plenty of times (they did a bus tour together, he’s seen the _girls_ shirtless plenty of times) but Derek is always quick about changing and even when they’re at beaches or pools or Scott has roped all of them into some sort of wrestling matches, Derek always projects an air of _don’t touch_. Or at least _don’t touch intimately_.

Except now.

Now he is pulling his shirt back and exposing his side and Stiles doesn’t know how but the air in the room has thickened to something… soft. He lifts a hand and presses gently beneath the tattoo and Derek stiffens for a moment before relaxing, but it’s not a flinch and Stiles doesn’t snatch his hand back.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, staring at the scrawl of dark lines. It’s small, at least, James must’ve told the artist to do it small no matter what and there is no doubt that Derek’s bicep will cover it 90% of the time even when he _is_ shirtless. But it’s still black and _there_ and- “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Derek says, his voice gentle. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

Stiles thinks that may be a lie because it’s swollen and _red_ and he just doesn’t buy the idea that having a needle stabbing ink into you a thousand times is anything but the worst pain imaginable.

“Derek,” he starts, trying and failing to get his voice to come out evenly. He just doesn’t… he wasn’t to hear _why_. He wants to know. “Why did you do it?”

“You were about to have a panic attack up there,” Derek says and suddenly he is carefully looking away. “And I wasn’t about to let you get your first tattoo on some stupid television show.”

“Yeah, but that was _my fault_ ,” Stiles tries. “They told me they could rig it and I said something stupid about the integrity of the game. You shouldn’t have-”

“You still didn’t really want it,” Derek says, snorting. “You just didn’t want it leaking to the fans that it was fake.”

“Fine, but… but, still, Derek. I could have handled it.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him but Stiles holds his gaze. He feels… he still hasn’t stepped away, his hand is still on Derek’s skin, he’s still just a tad too close and he’s never let himself think about what it would mean to actually _have_ Derek, not really, but-

But it feels like Derek just made a big gesture. Or Stiles can’t help but see it that way.

He wants to know if it’s true.

“I-” Derek starts and then his voice is dropping into something deeper. Reverent. “I didn’t want anything on you. Nothing you didn’t want. Not when you’re already…”

Stiles freezes. Derek struggles for another moment, eyes on the ground and then looks up and meets Stiles’ eyes.

And it’s just like everything the shippers always say that they see and Stiles thinks he tricks himself into seeing. It’s soft and warm and there’s a blush just peaking out over Derek’s stubble and Stiles’ heart starts beating triple time and-

“Not when you’re already perfect,” Derek says.

Stiles feels like the bottom of the room is suddenly gone. Or maybe he just doesn’t need it anymore because he is _floating_ and he-

“I’m sorry,” Derek stammers, taking a step back to finally put some distance between them. “I know- you don’t- the label doesn’t- it’s complicated and you probably-”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles says and then he _flings_ himself forward and his aim is off, if he’s being honest, his lips don’t quite line up with Derek’s, but they are close enough and Derek readjusts so they meet and-

It’s perfect. It’s perfect and more importantly, it’s _happening_. Right here. In James Corden’s guest dressing rooms where the lighting is too strong and it smells of cleaning product and the only personalized thing in the whole room is a bowl of candy that James’ production crew set out for them.

Derek’s hand come up to wrap around him and Stiles slips _both_ hands under Derek’s unbuttoned shirt and he wants to touch _everywhere_ but has to stop when Derek hisses in pain because he’s touched the brand new tattoo.

“Sorry,” he says, leaning back enough to do that. Derek takes this as an invitation to kiss down his neck. “I’m so sorry. Oh god, and I still can’t believe that you did that. For me.”

“ ‘s okay,” Derek mumbles. “It doesn’t hurt. I like it.”

Stiles laughs, a little too high and breathless, but still a laugh. “You don’t like it.”

“I do,” Derek insists. “It will… it will remind me of you. From now on. Of this.”

Stiles blushes from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet because Derek just sounds so _earnest_ and it’s… it’s too much, really. Too much and not nearly enough.

“I don’t think you’ll need the tattoo to remember this,” Stiles admits. “I’m gonna remind you myself.” He twists his head to catch Derek’s lips again before continuing. “All the time.” Another kiss. “Every day.” Another. “Every–”

Derek growls at him and sucks Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth to keep him from continuing and Stiles’ laughs and relaxes and there’s a million things they should do. They should get out of this dressing room and back to their hotel and take off all their clothes and they should also tell the rest of the band and probably their manager and deal with if or how or when they are going to come out and, at the very least, they should get some of lotion stuff for Derek’s new tattoo and saran wrap for when he goes to sleep tonight and Stiles should say thank you at least another dozen times and he should _lick_ that tattoo when it heals, definitely, but–

But for now, this is enough.

For now, this is everything.

END.


End file.
